Evolution I: Rescuing Compassion
by RatGrl
Summary: Aeryn and John rescue an injured boy.


Evolution I: Rescuing Compassion

  
  
  
  


By RatGrl (ratgrl127@ameritech.net)

  
  


Archive: This story is indeed my property and may be passed along and archived as long as my name goes right along with it. Just ask first, heh. 

  
  


Category: Drama

  
  


Rating: PG-13, I guess. 

  
  


Spoilers: None that I know of. 

  
  


Summary: Aeryn and John rescue an injured boy. 

  
  


Disclaimer: Obviously the characters of Farscape do not belong to me and never will (awww!). They do, however, belong to the Jim Henson Company and I use them humbly for my personal entertainment within this little universe of mine. The character of Seth is of my own creation. He is not to be used without my permission. 

  
  


Author's Note: This is the first story in what theoretically will become a series. If I get enough feedback I think I'll actually consider finishing it, heh. *Hint* *Hint*. 

  
  


Here we go!

  
  


* * *

Dirty water, laced with fresh crimson, gnawed on his fingertips and drenched his tattered clothes. A maelstrom of fire-breathing creatures and three-armed men thundered around him in malicious arcs of furious rage, their bloody bodies confined to the water-logged pavement of the frantic street. Anarchy swam around him; gunshots, violent curses, and the crunch of breaking bones. Seth closed his eyes. He drew in a ragged, pained breath, the burning in his abdomen intensifying with each desperate gulp of air. 

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be. 

He was supposed to be safe.

An agonized scream broke from his throat. Inevitable panic had started to seep into his shivering skin, moving past his frail bones, and into the dying marrow deep within. 

This wasn't the way it was supposed to be.

Another scream of pain. And another.

He was supposed to be safe.

Soft, gentle hands touched his face. His chest. His arms and legs. Until he felt his mangled body being lifted and carried. Carried away from the raging chaos threatening to destroy him. 

"Aeryn! C'mon!" a voice yelled from the distance. 

He felt his body being pressed against another, protectively. Strong arms encircled his back. Strong hands supported his neck and head. 

"I'm coming, Crichton! Get the Prowler started!" 

She began to run. Even through the dim cloud descending upon him, Seth could distinguish the voice as female. That comforted him, somehow. His fingers curled around the sweat-soaked fabric of her shirt, clenching as tightly as he could. He buried his face into her shoulder, crying.

And she ran faster. And faster still.

"Aeryn! Get in!" 

He felt her hold him closer as she hopped into the small craft. Felt her whisper into his bloody, matted hair.

"It'll be alright. You'll be okay."

He believed her.

  
  


Zhaan watched Aeryn carefully place the boy's limp, battered body onto the medlab table, watched the Peacekeeper step back in two quick strides to give her room. Crichton stood next to her, looking on as well, worry etching itself deep within the lines on his face.

Aeryn's face, however, was unreadable. 

Zhaan worked with hurried, yet deliberate, motions, breathing a prayer as she deftly cleaned and stitched the jagged slice creeping across the boy's abdomen. Not too deep, she observed, but deep enough to kill the tiny Sebacean if not properly treated. He was lucky. She smoothed down a rebellious lock of greasy blonde hair, whispering another prayer. Yes, he was lucky Aeryn and Crichton had brought him in as soon as they did.

But his future wasn't certain just yet.

Zhaan turned to Aeryn and Crichton, wiping the blood and grime off of her hands with a frayed strip of cloth.

"What happened?" Zhaan asked quietly.

"We were in the marketplace, trading," Crichton began, glancing quickly at Aeryn as if asking for permission to continue. Her face remained blank. "A fight broke out. Some vender took a knife to him."

"He had been stealing," Aeryn clinically stated, her gray eyes focused on the boy's shallow breathing.

Crichton nodded.

"The vender must have had quite a temper."

Crichton nodded again. Aeryn said nothing.

Zhaan reached out and touched her arm, sensing the uneasiness in the Peacekeeper female. "You saved him." 

Aeryn flinched. "That remains yet to be seen."

She tore her eyes away from the unconscious boy and stalked out of the room, with Crichton following shortly behind.

  
  


"Aeryn! Wait up!"

Aeryn quickened her pace. 

  
  


He caught up to her, grabbing her arm. "What's wrong?" he demanded, his light blue eyes brimming with steely determination. 

How could she explain to him what was wrong? How could she explain to him the implications of what she had done?

He wouldn't understand. Couldn't. This wasn't his world.

"Nothing, Crichton. Now leave me alone."

She ripped her arm from his grasp, and angrily stomped down the corridor.

  
  


When Crichton re-entered the medlab, Zhaan was leaning over the boy, carefully inspecting a mark just below his right clavicle. 

"She'll be okay," Crichton stated, knowing he really didn't have the authority to make to that conclusion.

But Zhaan didn't hear him. Her eyes had suddenly darkened, and her body tensed with rigid shock. 

"Ka'ha'leen have mercy on this child," she breathed. 

  
  
  
  


She stared out at the stars, the barrenness of the terrace strangely comforting. The inky blackness of space coiled around her, around her insides. A dull, cool knot resting in her chest. 

She was safe here. 

No expectations from anybody. No life or death episodes here. Not a rule or regulation in sight. Nothing to remind her of the past, nothing to connect her to the future. Just the present, as eternally overpowering as the radiant bodies of gas swirling around her.

But even they come to an end, she realized.

Heavy boots echoed behind her.

"You didn't kill him."

Aeryn said nothing.

D'Argo shifted slightly, not surprised by the Peacekeeper's lack of reply.

"Zhaan found his Peacekeeper identification mark." He paused, licking his lips, deciding to continue. "You all have them, yes?"

"Yes. They are given to us at birth." She spoke as if the tattoo were an honor, or a present, rather than a sadistic form of torture handed to a newborn that is too young and too helpless to understand the pain or consequences it brings.

"Zhaan believes he is the child of traitors. Taken by them, perhaps, after birth. After he was given his Peacekeeper assignment. Then brought to a world where they thought they were safe."

Aeryn bit her lip, clenched her jaw. 

"It is your duty to kill such a being."

"Yes."

Silence flooded the terrace. Tense, rigid silence. D'Argo nodded, then left Aeryn to watch the stars dip and turn in the serene black sky.

  
  
  
  


***

  
  


"How is he, Zhaan?" D'Argo asked, walking into the medlab. Crichton was there, helping Zhaan take a reading of the chemical levels in the boy's body. Checking for infection, D'Argo assumed. 

After all, three days had passed and the boy still remained unconscious.

An unspoken void of dread had begun to swallow up their hopes. Doubt lingered shortly behind. But they still remained somewhat optimistic, praying the boy would wake up soon. 

Perhaps they could not imagine him dying under their tender care. 

For three days the three of them had kept vigil over the boy. Sometimes Chiana helped. Rygel as well. 

Aeryn, however, was never present at his bedside.

Part of D'Argo was angry at her for that. This frail, helpless boy was possibly dying, and she couldn't find the compassion in her cold heart to care. That was an essential part of her breeding, after all. The clinical acceptance of death was commonplace among her people, even the death of a small child.

But the other part of him sympathized with her. Pitied her, even. In saving the boy, Aeryn had disregarded one more Peacekeeper ideal. With each day, she was turning her back on everything familiar to her. Her home, her family, her beliefs. 

And she had saved his life. Maybe that was enough.

For now, at least. 

When the boy woke up, they would all have to decide what to do next. All of them. 

If the boy woke up.

Zhaan sighed, frustrated. Crichton wore a similar expression on his face.

"I'm not sure. Everything appears to be normal. He appears to be healing. But..."

"But?"

"He's still not awake."

D'Argo walked over to his bedside. Sat down. 

"Go get some rest, Zhaan. You too, Crichton. I'll stay and watch him."

Both shared a weary look with D'Argo and walked reluctantly out of the medlab.

  
  


Aeryn crept through the deserted town, her boots crushing the rubble beneath her. Pillars of smoke rose from the buildings flanking her, buildings that had crumbled pitifully under the wrath of a vicious battle. This campaign had lasted, as far as Aeryn was concerned, forever. And now, as the last few major battles came to a close, some squads, such as her own, were sent to find survivors, supplies, and destroy anything that had been left unscathed. 

Clean-up duty.

This had once been a town, she realized. These buildings once stood tall. And people, possibly by the thousands, had walked these streets.

Barbarians, yes. The enemy, yes. But living beings nonetheless.

She shivered involuntarily.

Cieran smiled as he brushed past her. "Nothing much to do here, eh?"

"No, not much."

He looked as if he were enjoying the destruction laid out in front of him. As if he had participated in it himself. 

Though Cieran was a comrade, a member of her squad, she didn't care for him much. Something in his eyes, a certain unexplainable coldness, always left her on edge. And times like these---when death hung in the air like a putrid stink---made her even more uneasy of the man who seemed to laugh heartily at the sight of perished life.

She didn't disagree with the destruction. But she didn't agree with it either. Didn't revel in it. She was an indifferent Peacekeeper. Followed orders, always, but never with the zeal Cieran and others like him did.

A whimpering caught her ear, and she raised her weapon. A whimpering and the sound of clattering stones. 

Cieran got to the child first.

A dirty creature. Covered in green ooze and gray mud. Moaning in fear, curled into a tiny, shaking ball.

Cieran laughed. "What a pathetic brute," he spat.

"A survivor."

"Just lucky."

Cieran weighed the pulse rifle in his hands, a lustful smirk tainting his grotesque face. 

"Is that really necessary, Cieran?"

She tried to veil her anxiety with cool indifference.

"You're not defending such a frelling savage, are you Aeryn?" he leered.

She shook her head. "He's worthless. He wouldn't hurt us, even if he knew how."

Cieran eyed her suspiciously. Peacekeepers were trained to show no mercy. Her defense of the child's life was more than unusual.

Another sound caught her ear and she made the mistake of turning her head. 

Nothing. She whirled around. 

But she was too late.

"Cieran, NO!"

The pulse rifle went off in Cieran's cruel, hard hands. She heard him laugh menacingly as the child buckled and slumped over in a heap, eyes wide open in shock and terror. Blank, lifeless eyes staring up at her, begging her to breathe the life back into such a small being that had lived for such a short time.

Aeryn awoke in a cold sweat, breathing hard. 

She quickly got out of bed, dressed, picked up her pulse rifle. 

And headed for the medlab.

  
  
  
  


Aeryn stood awkwardly next to his bed, watching the rise and fall of his chest as he slept. Or what to her seemed like sleeping. Aeryn couldn't tell. For all she knew he could be slipping further and further into the dark tombs of death.

She had relieved D'Argo of his watch. He had, of course, been surprised to see her, lurking in the shadows, watching them both from a distance, pulse rifle in hand. He had been even more surprised when she offered to watch the boy for him. 

He was reluctant to leave. Perhaps the boy reminded him of Jothee. But he finally did, suddenly feeling the overwhelming tiredness in his bones as he entrusted his vigil to her.

At first, Aeryn had watched from the door. Uneasily, she held the pulse rifle in her hands, weighing the familiar object in her grasp. Then she had moved closer. And closer still. Now she stood over him, still nervous, yet mesmerized by his soft, shallow breathing.

He was so small. So fragile. As a Peacekeeper solider she had never been this close to such a young child. In fact, she had rarely even been in the presence of a child before. There were special places, schools, where the children were taught. Separate from the soldiers. Separate from the breeding homes. 

A place where they were taught how to serve, obey. 

And sometimes kill.

His hands were so tiny. His arms so thin. Had she really been this frail? It was impossible to think of such a harmless creature learning the basics of Peacekeeper training. 

But that's what it had been like for her. That's what her childhood had been instilled with.

If she could call it a childhood. 

Crichton. When he explained childhood he talked endlessly about games, and fun, and laughter. While his face shone with happiness and warmth she was remembering training, skills.

And sometimes death.

He stirred in his sleep, coughing slightly.

Had he done this before? She couldn't remember. After all, she hadn't been there for a good portion of the past three days. Sometimes she had watched from a distance, hidden from the others. In the darkness. But still, she had no idea how bad his condition really was.

To be near his bedside, even now, was a constant reminder of a past she could never return to. It was hard enough to accept that she was never going home. It was even harder to accept that she was a different person than the Aeryn she had always known.

He shifted again, whimpering.

His tiny hand lifted. Rested on her arm. Clenched her shirt, just as he had done the day she had rescued him.

"Mama?" he wheezed, his eyes opening. Looking at her.

She covered his hand with hers. "No, I'm not your mother."

She almost regretted telling him that. 

His eyes cleared, finally placing her. When he spoke, his voice was soft, strained. 

"You. You saved me."

Aeryn felt her chest tighten. Felt her eyes soften. 

She could only nod, holding his hand tightly.

  
  
  
  


  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  



End file.
